


Corrupted

by BastardBin



Series: Winged Grian AU [3]
Category: Hermitcraft, Minecraft (Video Game), Wynncraft - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Hermitcraft - Freeform, Wynncraft au, actually nevermind I stole the catalyst but, and threw it into Hermitcraft, basically I stole the storyline from Wynncraft, grian has wings au, grian is stressed, mumbo is a spoon, now im just writing my own plot lmao, poor xisuma is stressed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-06-28 03:43:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19804006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BastardBin/pseuds/BastardBin
Summary: There was something wrong with the Nether.Welsknight was the first to notice it. He was the first to attempt to travel through his portal, just like usual, before something stopped him in his tracks. The floor around the portal was black, dense at first and thinning out toward the rest of his base, in a manner he knew he hadn’t created himself. There were ominous black particles in the air, floating up from the new blocks and outward from the portal, which in itself gave him a vibe he didn’t like at all.It felt like the portal was watching him.---In which something seems to have happened to the Nether - it's spreading, and everything it touches seems to blacken into some sort of corrupted state, and Xisuma doesn't know what to do about it.Grian, however, seems to know exactly what's happening, and he's terrified.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> for anyone that doesnt know, wynncraft is a minecraft mmo server that grian owns and primarily helped build. i've been playing it a lot lately and its super good, but i completed some quests in the storyline and got ideas so lmao here we are. basically some dude fell into the nether and became corrupted and crazy, and i thought, "ok but what if that happened to someone and they stayed sane, and also what if that person was grian"

There was something wrong with the Nether.

They’ve all been there time and time again, they’ve all been in and out without a single issue. Each and every one of the Hermits has gone in to fight mobs, to gather resources, to build their travel hub. Not once have any of them had any ill effects from the place, unless stupid mistakes and lost gear counted.

But now… something was different. Something was off.

Welsknight was the first to notice it. He was the first to attempt to travel through his portal, just like usual, before something stopped him in his tracks. The floor around the portal was black, dense at first and thinning out toward the rest of his base, in a manner he knew he hadn’t created himself. There were ominous black particles in the air, floating up from the new blocks and outward from the portal, which in itself gave him a vibe he didn’t like at all.

It felt as if the portal was watching him, almost. Looking at it, being near it, everything about it sent chills up his spine, and every one of his instincts screamed to get as far away from it as possible. It was an effect the Nether and its portals had never had on anyone before; it was scary, sure, but they were familiar with it. This, however, was something else entirely.

He’d gone straight to Xisuma after that, taking the long way around the overworld instead of going anywhere near that portal. It wasn’t long after that the unofficial leader of the Hermits had gathered all the others around the original portal, on its own island sculpted around it by Scar.

And Scar, immediately, noticed exactly what Welsknight had.

“I didn’t put those blocks there.”

How he could tell anything was different was anyone’s guess, since the spreading black blocks fit right in with his landscaping around the portal, but it was his build after all. No one dared to touch them, either, every Hermit hovering a safe distance from the edge and wondering what exactly was going on.

“I’ve never seen anything like this.” Xisuma held his chin in one hand, his mind clearly elsewhere as he tried to think of some kind of answer. “I don’t think it’s safe to go through any of the portals, though. I don’t like this feeling.”

“What are we supposed to do then? We can’t just ignore it and hope it goes away.” Doc inched ever so slightly closer to some of the spreading blackness, eyeing it cautiously. Xisuma made a warning noise in the back of his throat as the other Hermit crept further from the group, but Doc ignored him. “If it’s spreading, it probably won’t stop, and sooner or later we won’t be able to ignore it anymore.”

Iskall piped up from nearly the back of the group, his head popping up over Stress’s shoulder. “I vote for ignoring it, yes definitely we should ignore it.”

“What about when it comes for you in your base, Iskall?”

“Fire. Lots of fire. And then a new base.”

It would’ve been an amusing exchange in any other situation, but faced with the sight of the black particles floating in the air causing more of the ground to turn black when they landed, humor was the last thing on anyone’s mind. From where Doc was crouched at the very front of the group, the creeping infection was only a hair’s breadth from touching him, and he was too preoccupied with his inspection to realize how close it was getting.

The sound of rockets made everyone jump, every one of them being too focused on the eerie portal to realize one of their number had been missing from the start. Late to join the meeting, Grian appeared seemingly out of nowhere and physically crashed into Doc, shoving him several blocks backward harshly. “Stay back! Don’t go anywhere near it.” He barked, uncharacteristically sharp. Doc stumbled back and was caught by Ren, though any reprimand he might’ve had died the instant he took in the expression on the builder’s face. His hair was a mess, as if he hadn’t bothered to fix it this morning, and there was a panicked expression on his face that seemed far too knowing. He stood between the group and the portal, leaving his back to the ominous expanse of corroded purple without a second thought.

“Grian,” Xisuma was the first to break the tense silence that followed. “Do you know something about this?”

All eyes were on him as he shifted uncomfortably in place, unsure of which of his friends to look at. “I… yeah. I know what this is, kind of.”

“Please, fill us in. Anything you know is surely more than what we’ve got to go on so far.” Xisuma’s voice was kind, even if a bit tense, which was more than understandable given the circumstances. Grian shifted again, glancing behind himself at the portal. His wings were puffed up.

“Before I came here, there was this other world I worked in. I lead the others in building this huge land, with all these towns and cities for villagers and humans alike. It was this huge project, but it was going so well. At least… at first.” Grian stared off into the distance as he spoke, seeing a world none of them could. “That was before the corruption came. Something was…  _ wrong _ with the Nether in that world. When a portal was unearthed and discovered, it began to spread, infecting the overworld and seemingly causing the Nether itself to spill out through the portal and take over.”

“What happened then, Grian?”

“It started to affect everything. It made everyone rise from the dead, both ancient skeletons and newly perished adventurers. It made animals go wild and attack anyone and anything, even normally docile ones. People who lived too close to the corruption, or who it spread near to, over time would start to act differently. They’d stop being themselves. I remember this one village, in particular, the people there… they were friendly, at first, but once it spread to their village they became so angry and violent that they ended up all killing each other.” Grian shivered, seeing it all again in his memory. Everyone else were silent. “There was a researcher, or a mage, or something, I’m not sure. But he tried to learn about it, he tried to understand what it was and how to stop it. He-- I guess he got too close. One of the mobs shoved him into the portal, and when he came out again, he was something else. It was like it physically spread to him, like he became a part of it, and he saw something in there that changed him.”

As the builder spoke, the portal behind him rippled. Only Mumbo saw it, and when he blinked, the movement had disappeared. Unaware of the slight shift, Xisuma spoke again while Grian stared like a lost child at the spreading blackness under his feet.

“Then what do we do?”

“I don’t know.” He admitted. “But no matter what,  _ don’t _ touch it, and  _ don’t _ try to go into the Nether under any circumstance.”

The portal rippled again, its entire surface seemingly stretching and distorting in a way it shouldn’t have been able to, and this time Mumbo wasn’t the only one that saw it. It was like the portal was a blanket, and something on the other side was pushing on it, changing its shape and pushing it out from the frame without being able to pass through. There were a myriad of warning cries among the Hermits, but they didn’t come soon enough for Grian to move. He spun to look at the portal just in time for the swirling purple to lunge out and grab him, wrapped around what seemed to be a hand, before yanking him straight into the Nether.

Mumbo had to be held back by Xisuma as he instinctively lunged forward after his friend, a feeling of cold horror overtaking him for not realizing sooner that  _ something _ had spotted Grian. “No! You can’t go after him, we don’t know what’s in there.”

“But-- he- we can’t leave him!”

“If he’s right about what happened to the other guy that went in there, then-” Xisuma started to rationalize, more intent on keeping the majority of the group together than to let anyone go off on suicide rescue missions. His sentence was cut off as Grian reappeared through the portal, though, wrenching free of the purple like it was clinging to him.

“Go! Everyone off the island,  _ now! _ ” Grian shouted, bolting away from the portal like it had burned him. For all they knew, maybe it had? The Hermits scattered like birds, a plethora of rockets filling the air as everyone launched into the air with their Elytras, and Grian went right alongside them.

“What happened in there, Grian?” Xisuma called back, and tried to keep an eye on everyone, making sure they all stayed in the sky together.

“I-- I can’t say. I don’t know.” The builder shuddered, his wings too twitchy as he fluttered alongside his friends. “I just, we need to get away. We need to come up with a plan and  _ stay the hell away from that thing. _ ”

“What thing, Grian? What did you see?”

“I don’t  **know!** ” The builder shouted, his voice cracking. He flew away from the group, leading the way back to the nearby mainland, though they could all see how twitchy and erratic his normally smooth flying had suddenly become. When he landed on the beach and the rest of them lighted down all around him, everyone could hear as he continued to mutter, “I don’t know.  _ I don’t know.” _

“Grian?” Xisuma crouched down in front of him, concern written clear across his face, though he kept his distance. Mumbo, on the other hand, reached for his friend’s shaking shoulder, and Grian wrenched away from them both.

“Don’t- don’t touch me. I don’t know if I, if--” Grian held his trembling hands in front of himself, staring, expecting something. Whatever it was, he wasn’t left waiting long, though it wasn’t his hands that gave it away.

“Grian,” Cleo gasped from somewhere behind him. “Your wings are- they’re turning black.”

Slowly, the builder turned his head, and stared down over his shoulder at the infectious color creeping down over his feathers. Particles rose from him, just like they had from the blocks on the ground, and he turned back to face Xisuma with a grim expression.

“I… I’m corrupted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i kinda wanna do more but i have zero idea of what direction to take this if i did since i don't know where wynncraft's plot is actually goin


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who thought up a plot and now knows what to do with this thing

Everything had changed. What had once been a happy community, days full of antics and unrivaled friendship, had simmered to a constant feeling of dread and cloying silence. A silence that no one quite felt brave enough to break, not most of the time, as they each went on with their everyday menial tasks. None of it felt important, but they found themselves doing it anyway, trying to find some feeling of normal in the hell their world had become.

Others worked tirelessly, studying the ever-growing corruption creeping across the land. No one had seen Xisuma sleep since it had all started; day by day, he was still there, crouched on safe cliffs and trees and watching the infection. Impulse stayed by his side for every moment, both trying to find some kind of pattern, anything that could tell them more.

Then there were the outliers, the ones who felt hopelessly useless in the community’s stance against what looked like it would inevitably end up being the end of their world. Doc tried contraption after contraption, trying to see if anything could slow or stop the spread, but everything he built was also consumed by the darkness. Ren, alongside him, experimented with dotting the soon to be eaten land with every type of material he could get his hands on in a bid to see if any were immune; not a single one survived the corruption. And finally Iskall, in a fit of frustration and grief, attempted to fight one of the grotesque mobs that had been twisted by it; a creeper with its skin greyed and split with red, its head snapped to the side in a way that nothing living should ever be.

The blast it left behind had created a brand new crater full of the corruption, infecting every single block that had been by the explosion. The only reason it didn’t hit Iskall himself full force was thanks to Stress, knocking him out of the radius from a distance with her trident and then giving him an hours-long earful on how stupid he’d just been.

And while they all descended into hopeless chaos or silent fear, Mumbo did not move. He stayed in his seat in TFC’s underground base, refusing to leave the glass case beside him, only getting up to stretch when TFC came around occasionally to hand him some food and shove him into remembering himself.

Inside the case, Grian was huddled into a ball. Some hours were easy, quiet; those were the hours when he could chat with Mumbo and sometimes TFC, hold a steady conversation, know where he was and who he was. But those were the good moments, the times when he could hear his own thoughts. The bad hours were the hard ones; those were when  _ the voice _ crept in, when he could see its burning eyes in the darkness behind his lids and its claws creeping into his mind.

It wanted him back. It wanted him to return, to give himself to its corruption, to lash out at his friends and bring them to the dark side with him. His hands trembled as he gripped his hair, gritted his teeth and screamed inside his own head for it to get out. It only laughed at him, but he was used to that reaction. Every single time he told it to leave him alone, it would only tell him that they were one now.

For all he cared, though, it could kindly fuck off. He wasn’t going to give in. Darkness creeped at the edges of his vision, threatening to swarm him and knock him under the roiling sea of the infection inside himself, of the puppet strings that  _ thing _ had sewn into him. But he always blinked it away, always steadied his twitching hands, and negated all of the intrusive thoughts with his own. He would not slip under. He would  _ not. _

“How’s he doing?” TFC’s guarded tone slipped into his mind, dashing away  _ the voice _ with its familiarity, and Grian sighed in relief. Though the other Hermit had been a bit hesitant to allow the infected builder into his precious safe space, especially now as it was the only of their bases to remain without corruption spreading from their portals within, he’d ended up caving on the matter. Grian didn’t blame him for hesitating, though; he kept such a diligent eye on everything in his base that he’d noticed the black particles in his portal before anyone else, and the off feeling it’d given him; as a result, TFC had destroyed his own portal and cut its connection without a second thought, leaving his base completely sanitary. If only he’d thought to mention it to the others before Welsknight discovered his own.

“It’s one of the bad times.” Mumbo replied to TFC’s question, his voice gritty from being unused for the past several hours as Grian went downhill again. He could feel them looking at him; and slowly, he raised his head, catching their gazes. “Oh, Grian?”

“It’s fading.” Grian mumbled back, muffled behind the glass. Untangling his fingers from his hair, he straightened his back, wincing when it popped.

“Good to see you back in reality.” TFC was worried about the corruption in him, especially now that every other Hermit had also had to move into his base so just one misstep with Grian could spell doom for all of them, but it was clear he still cared, too. His tone softened some, losing most of the edge it had. “How ya doin’? You’re still you, right?”

“It comes and goes.” Grian wobbled his hand, making a “so-so” motion. “But I’m me. It can’t seem to make me do anything I don’t want to do.”

TFC nodded, and Mumbo looked relieved. Grian knew he was about to suggest they remove the glass, and he spoke up again first.

“But we still don’t know if I’m contagious toward anything I touch.”

“Well, but… but..” Mumbo tried to argue, but couldn’t find a good counter point. TFC hummed, stroking his chin.

“Hmm, but nothin’s happened yet. It’s been days, so if it was gonna do somethin, it mighta done it already.”

Grian shook his head. “It might be biding its time, too. What if it just makes us think I’m safe, only to make me infect everything the instant I’m let out?”

It looked like the underground Hermit had another point, but the sound of his vault door opening interrupted any further conversation. It could have been anyone returning from the surface, causing the three to lean toward the hallway out of curiosity of who was about to join them. Grian resisted the urge to smush his face against the glass to see.

Footsteps approached down the hall, and it turned out to be Joe who turned the corner. Grian deflated. He liked Joe, but he was almost hoping it was Xisuma with a solution. That was just wishful thinking, though. Mumbo gave a tired wave, but Joe brushed right past him and up to the glass. His expression was unreadable.

“Out of the box, Grian.”

The builder blinked, surprised, and prepared his same argument from earlier. “Listen, you know I can’t--”

“I just came back from your base. Y’know how you got that Nether portal right up against the glass? Just like the glass you’re sittin behind?” Joe asked, and Grian stilled. What was he getting at? “Yeah, all your fish have turned into nightmares. The corruption spread right through the glass and got to em all.”

Part of him was wrenched with sadness over his fish, and the other part was more concerned than ever for the Hermits standing far too close to the glass that apparently wouldn’t protect them from him at all. TFC seemed to have the same thought, taking about three steps back, though Mumbo and Joe didn’t move. Grian wasn’t sure what to say, leaving Joe to continue.

“I told Xisuma first, and he agrees. If you were dangerous, we’d know by now. So get out of the box and go help him find a solution.” And without even waiting for a reply, Joe pulled out his pickaxe and broke right through the glass bubble, holding out a hand for the builder. Grian just stared at him. “Come on. You’ll be better help in fixing this than any of us.”

Grian shook his head, standing up on his own and avoiding Joe’s hand. “...Okay. But I’m still not going to touch anyone.”

Putting his hand down and stepping aside, Joe just nodded. “That’s fair.”

Carefully, and for the first time in several days, Grian took a step out of his quarantine. He was careful not to touch either of the other two as he stepped out, keeping his blackened wings especially away from them, and turned to look at where he’d been sitting with them against the wall for so long. Part of him expected the stone to be black from where his wings had been pressed against it, since they were the part of him the corruption had manifested in, but the wall was the same as it had been when he’d first gone in. Joe gave him a look, as if he knew exactly what the builder was thinking.

“See? None of us died. Now go on, Xisuma’s waiting for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so like i went on a road trip over the weekend and told the other person with me about how stuck i was on this fic and they helped me brainstorm a plot so thank them for the fact this is gonna happen now  
> also grian is literally the only hermit i watch but i wanted to include most of the others as much as i could so if their dialogue is weird then lmao oops


	3. Chapter 3

The air outside felt too stiff, too quiet, as if even the wind itself was holding its breath. It put Grian’s already frayed nerves on edge, making him glance around for some unseen predator even more than how much he was glancing behind himself to make sure he hadn’t started shedding black particles. But his wings were stable, and the ground below was no different than it was last he had seen it; at least, at first. As he drew closer to the center of the shopping district, he felt his blood run cold at just how much had been consumed by the infection already.

Building upon building, taken over and blackened nearly beyond recognition. The ones at the edge weren’t awful, but the ones closer to the center almost looked like campfires spitting out billowing black smoke with how many particles were rising from their many infested blocks. Nothing was safe; everything from wood to concrete to the little pond in front of his traveling cart shop, it had all taken on a look as if burned in some great fire. The water looked thick, sludge like, and if he stared too long he would swear he could see it moving in a way it shouldn’t.

Finally, after flying around and taking it all in, Grian spotted Xisuma crouched on the high roof of Sahara. He was alone, Impulse must have finally gone for a break, though Xisuma didn’t look like he intended to move anytime soon if ever. Folding one wing, the builder turned his direction, and smoothly landed a few blocks to the leader’s left. That was one good thing, he supposed; the infection hadn’t taken his ability to fly.

Xisuma startled ever so slightly, but relaxed some once he turned fully and saw Grian. “Oh, good. You’re here.” Grian saw the way his eyes scanned up and down him, no doubt inspecting him for any sign of danger like in the world only blocks below their feet. When he found none beyond the blackened feathers, Xisuma’s shoulders slumped, fully letting down his guard.

Ever so carefully, Grian crouched down into a sitting position near him, leaning around the edge to see Xisuma’s face. He looked so tired; even under his helmet, Grian could see the dark circles under his eyes, and he wondered how many phantoms were out for him right now. “I’m guessing things aren’t going well?” The builder finally asked, and Xisuma gave a tired, mirthless laugh.

“I think that’s a bit of an understatement, Grian.” He gestured with one hand, sweeping broadly across the lost shopping district below them. “No matter how much we watch it, there’s nothing we can do to stop it. It’s my job to protect the Hermits, but there’s nothing I can do to save them from this.”

“Surely you have some kind of idea, though.” Grian argued, shuffling slightly closer, trying to get Xisuma to look at him again. “Joe sounded like you’d come up with something.”

“Well… I had a thought. But I don’t much like it.”

“What’s your idea, Xisuma? Anything is better than just sitting back and letting it happen.”

Hesitating for a moment longer, Xisuma finally started speaking in a slow and calculated way, as if choosing his words carefully. “We know TFC’s base is safe because he broke his portal before the corruption ever came through. And it’s only spreading outward from all of our other portals; this is the mess from the portal in front of the iTrade building.”

“Okay… So what does that mean?”

Xisuma pointed toward a random black spot, in the middle of a field on its own. “That’s where Iskall blew up an infected creeper. It spread to any blocks that didn’t blow up in the explosion, but it hasn’t moved or changed since then. If it was just the corruption that spread on its own, that patch would have grown already.”

Connecting the dots he was laying out for him, Grian gasped. “You’re saying it has to be connected to the portals to spread… like a root. So if we destroy all of the portals--”

“--then it might stop spreading.” Xisuma finished for him, nodding his head. Then he pointed back toward iTrade, surrounded in meters of infected and shedding blocks. “But that creates a whole other issue.”

“We can’t reach the portals to destroy them without getting corrupted ourselves.” Grian frowned, and slowly looked back at his wings. “But I…”

“Yeah. You’re already infected.” Finally, Xisuma looked at him, glancing too over his wings. He still looked lost and stressed, though. “But we don’t know what will happen if you get a second dose, or if breaking the portals will even work at all. Sending you in there could just be a death sentence, or worse.”

Grian felt  _ it _ stir at the back of his mind, making him freeze. It had something to say about this idea, but he couldn’t hear what it was. If it was a bad idea, he knew it would be trying to convince him to do it; but its voice was too muffled to tell what it thought at all. “I don’t… I don’t know. I don’t know what will happen.”

“I don’t know either, Grian.” Xisuma pulled off his helmet, and rubbed his face in a way that showed clearly his stress. “I don’t want to just send you off on a suicide mission, but I don’t want to do nothing. I don’t know what the right path here is.”

It was a big deal, a huge important issue, and had been from the very start. They all knew how serious this was; but this was the first time Grian really realized how much was weighing on Xisuma’s shoulders. All he’d thought about for days was to stay away from the others and drown out the voice, about what he’d seen that he still couldn’t comprehend. 

But everything else laid on Xisuma; while Grian quarantined himself, Xisuma was the one all of the others looked to for answers and a way out of the storm. He held the responsibility of ensuring the futures of everyone else here, when he didn’t have the answers to know what the right choices were. Along with all of the others, Grian always looked up to him for guidance, and never once considered what he did when he didn’t know any better than they did.

And it made Grian feel bad. Here Xisuma was, sleep deprived and stressed over trying to find the best way to save everyone without losing anyone. Gazing down at the wreckage below, the wheels in the builder’s head started turning. “What if…”

“Hm?” Xisuma perked up, glancing over at him.

“Well, what if we try anything else we can before going for the portals?” Grian tried, throwing the idea out there. He was willing to jump right back into the corruption if it would help; but he didn’t want it to make things worse than they were already if it caused him to turn to the dark side and against his friends. “Like a last resort, just in case there’s a better solution.”

“The other Hermits have been. I think someone suggested something about immunity potions, but no one knows where to start on that or if it’s even possible.” Xisuma shrugged. “Unless you had something in mind?”

Eyes scanning over the decayed shopping district, Grian couldn’t help but think of his last builds to take on this look. This corruption was moving so much faster, but maybe… “What if… Xisuma, do you think you can send someone to Wynncraft?”

“You think they’ve found a way to stop their corruption?” Xisuma cocked his head, staring off into the distance as he considered it. “If they have, they may have an answer for how to stop it here..”

Grian nodded. “Yeah. And it was moving so slowly back there that even if they didn’t stop it, I think I know of a few towns that may still be safe to teleport someone to.”

“So we can send someone to a safe town to ask about it on their end, and if they found a solution, bring it back here to stop all of this too.” Focusing back on the builder, Xisuma frowned. “I feel like there’s a ‘but’ here somewhere.”

“Well… I know the place best. I built a lot of the towns there.” Grian started, earning a hum and a nod to continue from the other. “But, well, they know the signs of corruption, too. So if I were to go…”

Shuffling his blackened wings for emphasis, Grian watched as realization dawned on Xisuma’s face. “You can’t go back, because they’ll think you’re compromised and kill you. So we need to send someone else to this place, even though you know it best.”

Nodding, Grian glanced back at TFC’s shelter. “The question is who to send.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got this one fully finished and then realized i completely skipped the plot point of sending someone to wynncraft so lmao i had to rewrite it
> 
> also who wants to guess who ends up going? its gonna definitely be the most totally fully prepared person who definitely doesnt have a track record of being awful at special missions lmfaooo


	4. Chapter 4

“Now, remember, you’ll be going to a town called Ragni. It’s on the west side of the continent and should be safe from the corruption. As soon as you arrive, find someone and ask them what the state of things are.” Grian explained for what had to be at least the thirteenth time, but no one could really blame him for being nervous, all things considered. He gestured again at a crude attempt at a map he’d drawn from memory, pointing where on the land this town was. “Don’t leave the town unless you absolutely have to, and if you do, be sure to bring a weapon with you and _go east._ Not any other direction. Only follow the path straight out of town, and follow signs from there. _Do not go any other direction._ ”

“Talk to townspeople, get a weapon, go east. Got it.” He was using that voice, that one he used when he was trying to convince Grian he knew what his instructions were. It brought to mind the memory of an entire exchange involving fish, castles, and Grian spending _far_ too much time trying to learn morse code. The corrupted builder jabbed at the map in his hands again.

“Do _not_ leave town unless no one in Ragni has any information, do you understand? If you have to leave, find the towns of Detlas or Elkurn, but the roots of corruption are _very_ near to them and whatever you do, if you start seeing obsidian spikes, _avoid them at all costs._ ”

Grian didn’t realize how tense he was until Xisuma stepped into sight, his hands held up in a placating manner. “I think Mumbo understands his instructions, Grian. You can relax.” He soothed, his voice level and calm. Beside him, Mumbo was nodding his head, and Grian had half a thought to get onto the both of them.

Seriously, didn’t they remember the fish? The _bananas?!_ But part of him knew they were right, and with a groan, he forced some of the tension in his shoulders to ease. If nothing else, maybe Wynn was safer than it was here, and there would be little Mumbo could do to get himself killed; though he also remembered hordes of zombies and absolutely _infested_ forests of spiders.

“And that’s another thing!” Grian piped up again at the thought, after a few moments of silence, startling them both. “Don’t travel through the Nivla Woods!”

Mumbo mimed writing notes, though he held neither a quill nor paper. “No… woods. Got it.” He nodded again, and Grian kind of wanted to scream.

The spoon wasn’t getting any of this. How did he end up getting chosen for this mission, again?

“Thank you again for volunteering, Mumbo.” Xisuma turned away from the stressed builder, clapping a hand onto Mumbo’s shoulder. Oh, right. _That_ was how. “It means a lot that you’re willing to help like this.”

“Anything I can do to help. I won’t let you down!” Mumbo beamed back, clearly happy to be doing what he could. Grian, meanwhile, was positive this entire situation was going to make him go grey. Couldn’t they at least send someone with him? Maybe Isk-- no, no on second thought he was better off alone.

“Can I just go try to destroy the portals after all?” Grian asked, making one last ditch effort to cease this entire stupid idea. Wynn was great, and Mumbo was especially great, and their world was probably more dangerous anyway, but he _really_ didn’t want his favorite spoon just thrown off somewhere he wasn’t familiar with alone. In the back of his head, he thought he could hear the voice laughing at him, and he hissed at it in frustration.

Xisuma raised an eyebrow, making him realize he’d actually hissed out loud… at nothing.

“No, Grian. We should try this first.” He moved on without saying anything, blessedly. Then he turned to Mumbo again, and a glance down gave away that his hands were already glowing. He was preparing to send Mumbo off. “Time may move differently there, so you may not have an accurate way to gauge how long it’s been. But if you aren’t back here with a solution in a few days, we will have to try something else. That’s when we’ll try sending in Grian to break the portals.”

“Time is of the essence.” Mumbo nodded again, firmly. “I’ll do my best to be back as soon as I can.”

“Thank you, Mumbo.” Xisuma held up his hands, glowing brighter now. “Are you ready?”

Mumbo glanced back over at Grian, who caught his gaze. This was probably the moment where they’d normally have some kind of goodbye hug, thinking something along the lines of if this would be the last they saw of each other; but as it stood, Grian couldn’t touch anyone. The gravity of the situation, and the uncomfortable disconnect as a result, weighed heavily on their shoulders. Instead, the builder did the best he could to bolster his friend’s confidence, and hoped he could hold it together on the other side.

“You’ve got this.” He told him, quietly. Considering how heavily Grian wondered about Mumbo’s capabilities sometimes, after the whole war incident, he knew it meant a lot to the other Hermit to have his support. He could practically _see_ the way it made Mumbo feel better.

“Yeah, Xisuma. I’m ready to go.”

And just like that, Xisuma reached forward, made contact, and Mumbo disappeared in a flash of blue.

* * *

In what felt like a split second, Xisuma’s face disappeared and was replaced by solid stone. He didn’t have time to react before his entire body collided with the cobbled ground, driving the wind from his lungs.

That… could have gone better. But shaking the ringing from his ears rewarded him with the sound of a bustling city, and Mumbo looked up, taking in his surroundings. He was in the center of a stone street, surrounded on either side with rows of immaculate houses and buildings with such fantastic detail, he had no doubt Grian had some hand in designing them. Were these rustic, or would he just call them medieval? Mumbo really should start learning the terms better, he thought.

If he had a chance to, that was.

But that thought reminded him of why he was here, and as gracefully as he could, the redstoner picked himself up off of the ground. As he casually dusted off his suit, he looked around some more, realizing he must be on some sort of market street. There was a weapons shop, an armor shop, what looked like it must be a bakery? There were big shops and little stalls, one of which was a blacksmith, while others sold foods and other items.

It was brilliant, really. He’d come here straight from Hermitcraft, where everything was pranks and redstone contraptions and where they even had a whole district dedicated to industrialism; but just like that, he was really feeling the immersion of being in a place centered around adventuring. There wasn’t a bit of redstone in sight, and he was honestly amazed at how great the place seemed to be even without it.

While he was lost in thought, looking around and up at all of the houses, he barely took notice of someone approaching him until they spoke. “Well met, traveler! Ye look a right dazed, ye do. New in town?”

Mumbo blinked, taking a moment to register that this woman’s accent fit in _perfectly_ with the entire vibe of the town, and turned to face her. She looked the part, too, with the clothes and everything. This place was like literally walking into another era! “Oh, yes actually! I’ve never been here before. This town is fantastic!”

She beamed at the praise. “Good eye! Ain’t nowhere better than good ol’ Ragni.”

“Actually, could you tell me more about this land? I’ve come here for a very important reason.” Mumbo asked, realizing this was the perfect chance to do exactly as Grian told him to.

“O’ course, stranger! What do ye wish to know about?”

“Have you heard of something called the Corruption? I was told it was near, eh… Elkurid? Or somewhere like that?”

“Hmm..” The way the woman hummed and held her face, as if she had to think extremely hard, didn’t feel like a good sign. If the Corruption was as much of a problem as it was back home, and from how Grian had described it here, she should know of it instantly. Unless… that meant they’d defeated it? “Sounds like somethin’ me gran told stories of.”

“Can you tell me what she said?” Mumbo asked, latching onto that. It may not be much, retold from the recollection of a grandchild through bedtime stories, but it may be the lead he needed.

“Well, they say there were this great tragedy, back durin’ her time. Right bad stuff, y’see, made people not right in the head ‘n brought the dead up from their graves. No one knew what to do ‘bout it.”

“But it’s gone now, right? Something must have worked?”

“Well, I suppose so. One day it jus’ stopped, ‘n no one ever heard of it again. But they was a lot of people tryna stop it ‘n all, so someone musta done the right thing ‘n maybe they didn’t live to tell the tale.” She shrugged. “Maybe ye ought to ask the adventurer’s guild? They might know a tad more.”

Well, it was decidedly more than he’d come in here with, though Mumbo didn’t quite like the idea of whoever stopped the corruption not living through the task. “Yes, of course. Where could I find that?”

“Might have a hall in Detlas. Ye could start yer search there, ask around. Travelers make their way through all the time, its a tradin’ city, y’see. Must get that sort of question all the time, people lookin fer work. They’ll know where to send ye.”

Mumbo nodded, adding this new knowledge to his task. He swore the name Detlas sounded familiar… maybe Grian had mentioned it? It must definitely be the best place to go, then. “Thank you for all your help, ma’am. I should be on my way right away!” He explained, beginning to back away, eager to get moving and find answers. She gave him a bit of a funny look for a moment, though it completely passed his notice as he took off before she could say anything else.

“Huh… I wonder how long til he figures out Detlas ain’t that way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they should've sent someone with brain cells


	5. Chapter 5

It’s been almost a week.

Sitting up in the artificial clouds Scar had made in a time that felt so long ago, Grian can only stare down at the extent at which the corruption has moved over their beloved shopping district. It was very nearly at TFC’s bunker, now; he was sure it’s only a matter of time now before it makes its way through the thick earth and infects the safe space so far below. He didn’t know how quickly it moved underneath the surface, but he knew it did, seeing as Doc had discovered it all the way down to bedrock once he went far enough. If they didn’t do something soon, he knew they were going to run out of time.

Everyone had been watching Xisuma, all on some sort of edge and waiting for the words that will let them breathe and step back; but it hadn’t come. Though he’d been diligent in staying awake, his hands nearly perpetually in the void between worlds, waiting and waiting for the moment the one missing member from their community would reach for him - there was nothing. They couldn’t be sure if Mumbo was safe and just being a spoon, or if time was so different between them that he had no way of knowing how long it had been, or if it was something much worse that Grian didn’t want to consider. But either way, the number of phantoms circling over where Xisuma was each night continued to increase ever more, and the corruption ate away at the land with each passing day.

The voice was still trying its best to get under Grian’s skin, too, trying whatever it could to break him. Though he did his best to keep his constant worry in check, it didn’t matter, because whatever that  _ thing _ was just went on and on about everything that could have happened to Mumbo. Some days it tried to tell him it had found him; that it had Mumbo, that it was doing whatever it wanted with his corrupted and controlled mind, and those were the days Grian found the hardest. It had found his weak point, to be sure. His concern for his friends was an easy loose thread it could pull at, over and over until the corrupted builder was left screaming on the floor until someone heard him.

Who knows what went through their minds at those times, too. Grian was sure they were more than a little concerned about him, about the screaming and the muttering back at the voice they could not hear. And they still couldn’t touch him; they were left at a distance, unable to reach out and unable to understand what their friend was going through. He felt bad for worrying them, but really, there wasn’t anything he could do about it. He couldn’t stop the thoughts that were forced into his head against his will, or when his emotions broke when it went too far.

They were all caught in some kind of limbo, one in which no one knew what to do and every day looked more and more bleak.

But Grian was tired of it. He  _ did _ believe in Mumbo, and somehow he knew his favorite spoon would return in one piece and potentially with answers, but he wasn’t so sure it would be in time to save them all. It was probably the voice that made him so sure of it, really. The way it went on and on, its words getting darker and darker, somehow made it clear to him it was just trying to convince him of something that wasn’t really true. So he could set aside his worries for Mumbo for now, in fact part of him in the deep silence when he was alone at night started to consider the redstoner may be the only one to survive if things kept up like this.

And sure, if things got really bad, he didn’t doubt that Xisuma would send away all of the other Hermits as well, even if he had to forcibly scatter them among worlds against their will to save them. But Xisuma wouldn’t be able to send himself away, at least not until  _ everyone _ was gone from the world; and Grian couldn’t be sent away, not when he could put anywhere he went to risk of becoming infected all over again. That was part of what bothered him most, that Xisuma’s fate was tied with his. Their leader didn’t deserve any of this, and sometimes when the voice seeped through the cracks of his mental strength, it would leave him with the seeds of doubt that he was the reason the corruption had made it here in the first place.

After all, he’d come from Wynncraft in the start, hadn’t he?

Xisuma didn’t deserve any of this, and yet, Grian was sure he was the one suffering the most. That was what got under his skin the most, that was what really made him want to find the source of that voice and strangle it into silence. The others could all be saved, but he couldn’t, and if it was Grian’s fault all of this had started at all then he could  _ never _ forgive himself. That was where his patience was running as thin as the grass between the corruption and TFC’s bunker; he couldn’t sit back any longer, couldn’t continue to just hope Mumbo would magically make it in time to save them all. He had to do something.

And he had to do it before Xisuma figured out what he was up to.

Slowly, Grian stood, flexing the cramps out of his limbs from sitting still with his thoughts for so long. The heavily enchanted pickaxe in his hand felt like it held the weight of the world within it, though that was probably just in his head. The voice was silent; it knew what he was going to do, and whether it was sitting back in fear or excitement, he had no way to know.

But he was far beyond being too scared to act, now. If he just did nothing, he’d have to watch everything they’d all worked for come crashing down as Xisuma would have to send all of their friends away, never to see them again; and if he knew them, which he did, he knew they’d be fighting and making it that much harder every step of the way. Then he’d have to sit back and watch his only remaining friend be consumed by the darkness he’d already witnessed, see his mind break and be taken by the thing that haunted his own thoughts. The leader he’d come to respect would be gone, replaced by a shell of himself on puppet strings.

The alternative was that, in trying to save them all, Grian may lose himself in the process. But he didn’t really mind that so much, compared to being stuck in a dying world with the guilt of bringing down one of his friends with him, he was fully ready to risk the corruption’s hold on him being completed if this went wrong. Xisuma would be upset, he knew; he hadn’t liked the idea from the start, even though it was his idea, and by now he’d completely refused to even consider falling back on it. Grian was sure he was putting all of his faith in Mumbo, too stressed and tired to even consider possibly losing two of his Hermits if Mumbo had failed and Grian does, too.

That’s why Grian wasn’t going to tell him. At least then, if he failed, the others would still be able to remind their leader that he had absolutely no hand in it.

Without even a hint of hesitation, Grian fell from the cloud and let his darkened and infected wings carry him on a gentle glide. The shopping district was like a charred battlefield, these days; the particles rising from the ground like smoke, and he flew right into the thick of it, determination hardening his resolve. If anyone came out of the bunker, they’d still surely be able to see him, but they couldn’t do anything without entering the thick smog themselves. Grian was confident no one would dare follow him in.

As he drew closer to the portal, he almost felt like he could hear the voice again, though it spoke no words. It was a heavy buzzing in his head, a sound that was more pressure than something to be heard. Growing heavier and louder with each passing second, Grian realized it was coming from the portal itself, thrumming in a way that made his thoughts hard to gather. He could already feel a headache forming, the noise that felt like a physical presence digging its claws into his mind sharper than the voice alone ever could.

Was this what drove the infected to insanity, after all? Had he just escaped soon enough to avoid ending up with  _ this _ in his head? Grian didn’t know. But he needed it to stop.

He didn’t think twice about letting his feet down on the infected ground, or standing right in front of the swirling and pulsating purple that had once grabbed him and left invisible burns he could still feel. He would  _ not _ leave until this thing was destroyed; it was the only hope he had left of saving his friends and the world they had together. Besides, he was already marked, had a voice in his head, and was breathing the black particles as it was. He didn’t have much to lose.

But he didn’t feel like he had much time to work, either, and dug his feet into the ground as best he could for a good footing. Then he readied his enchanted pickaxe, and swung with all he had, colliding solidly with the obsidian frame. And through that brief contact, he could feel that the thrumming noise was vibrating through its very surface, buzzing right up his arms in tandem with it in his head. It was  _ awful. _

Grian ignored it all, though. He had a job to accomplish, and he wasn’t going to back out now. Along with the strange, all encompassing noise of the portal, he could hear the faintest whispers of the voice seemingly waking up in the back of his mind. The swirling portal started to send shivers down his spine, giving him the clearest feeling of being watched. With each strike of his pickaxe, and each new crack in the frame, his instincts started screaming louder and louder that he was in danger.

He didn’t stop.

Though it was almost impossible to hear anything over the thrumming, and the increasing volume of the voice as it chattered something incomprehensible, Grian still became aware of a new noise. He kept striking at the obsidian while he tilted his head to listen, trying hard to identify it before it hit him what he was hearing.

It was shouting. From somewhere outside of the infected land, out of the smog of black particles, someone was shouting his name. Though it was too muffled to tell whose voice it was, and he was not going to turn around to see. Not when the frame was so thin, so full of cracks, ready to give way at any of his next strikes into its surface. He kept it up, growing increasingly desperate to destroy it as the swirling purple right to his side grew more and more agitated.

The voice knew what he was doing. And now, he knew; the portals  _ were _ the source, and it  _ wasn’t _ happy.

All at once, everything seemed to stop. He heard the sound of shattering, the feeling of his pickaxe throwing him off balance as the obsidian under it gave way. The noise stopped, the voice went silent, and almost as if in slow motion, he could see the way the purple of the portal began to shrink in on itself without its frame to hold it in place. Around him, the particles stopped rising.

But he should have stepped away.

It was closing, fast. But  _ it _ was faster. And just as Grian turned to see who had been shouting, relief beginning to flood him that it worked, he felt the same burning sensation over his skin as he was grabbed all over again. Xisuma’s horrified face disappeared as Grian’s every sense was, yet again, drowned in sickening purple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops x2

The first thing that crossed his awareness was heat.

It was the thick, sweltering kind of warmth that dried the air and made it almost too thick to breathe. The kind of heat that clung to his body, grating against his skin like sandpaper, burning in his lungs like smoke. That brought with it the second feeling; pain. It hurt to breathe, the ground far too hot where his cheek pressed against it, and every inch of him was  _ searing _ as if he already was covered in burns.

As awareness trickled back in, and he realized with a start that he could move, Grian wrenched away from the ground and snapped open his eyes. The red and black of the world around him spun nauseatingly, forcing him right back down to the floor on his hands, his battered body confused about which direction was up. His head was pounding, pulsing in time with his heart and the flashes of pain through his burned skin. It was like an orchestra of disorientation and pain, keeping him grounded through its unrelenting beat.

And it only became worse as his thoughts slowly managed to clear. The more he pieced together his memories, the more he understood that the surface beneath his hands was corrupted netherrack, the more it made him wish he’d stayed confused. With each second that passed and brought his right mind back with it, that damned voice became clearer and clearer. It was agonizingly loud in here, booming as if it was yelling directly into his ears, and he reached desperately for the portal he knew he’d come through.

But there was no portal; only a shattered frame, just as he’d left it. A single, tiny thought in the back of his clouded and drowned out mind said something about him being lucky he hadn’t been sheared in half by the closing of the portal, going through it after breaking it like he did.

A much larger part of his mind wished he had been, though. The voice was so loud, the heat so intense, it felt like his skull was either going to crack or he was going to cook alive within his own skin. Whichever happened first, he supposed.

With trembling arms, he pushed himself back up from the ground again and into a sitting position. The world split in two in his vision, shimmering and shaking in a way that almost made him fall again just to make it stop. But he forced himself to stay upright, leaning the top half of his body heavily against the risen terrain beside him, and finding he couldn’t care less that it was as infected as he was. Luckily for him, it seemed, the nausea and dizziness began to dissipate the longer he stayed upright and willed it away.

The voice didn’t get any quieter, and it was impossible to ignore at the volume it was at, but that same volume made it equally impossible to understand a word it was saying. Or was it even speaking a language he could understand? Grian couldn’t tell the difference. He wasn’t even sure at this point it was actually talking to him, specifically. It wasn’t the usual taunting it liked to spit at him, no, it was more frantic. It was like the verbal version of a creature thrashing on the ground in uncontrollable pain, desperate and broken apart. Trying to understand any of it only made him more and more confused.

This wasn’t what it was like the last time he was in here. That time, he wasn’t around long enough to take in the landscape, or listen to what the voice was saying, or anything of the sort. All he remembered was… 

Grian blinked, slowly moving his head around, trying his hardest to understand where he was and if he was safe without bringing back the motion sickness. At first glance, under the throbbing pain in his head to obscure his judgement, everything seemed relatively normal for the Nether. It was foggy red, mostly on fire, with a glowing sea of lava far below him; but a closer look revealed it wasn’t  _ quite _ right. The smoking, blackened and corrupted blocks were a given, but beyond even those, the terrain was wrong in a way that was so much worse than it had become back on the overworld.

Things weren’t just turning black or rotting away from the exposure to the corruption, or being split by obsidian spikes jutting out of the ground; the  _ entire land _ was split into huge, towering sections of relatively normal ground, but separated by perfectly cut sections of air all the way down to the ocean. It was as if someone came through and just cut huge portions of the world away, leaving blank cliff faces in pillars of terrain and exposing cave systems in the netherrack like festering wounds. It was too smooth, too massive a scale for any average person to have just done it on purpose.

The corruption couldn’t have morphed the entire Nether into a shape like this… could it?

Slowly getting used to the noise, Grian found his head clearing ever so slightly, and was able to push himself to his feet. His legs were weak, trembling under his weight, but he stayed upright. The worst of his dizziness seemed to be gone as well, allowing him to turn and survey the entirety of the horizon.

He almost buckled right back to the ground when he saw the rest of the Nether, though. A shiver wrenched through his body despite the heat, a horrified feeling of wrongness coming over him like being dunked under freezing water.

It wasn’t just that it was corrupted. It wasn’t just that it was the wrong shape. It wasn’t even that it had been changed, that it wasn’t the way it should be; no, it was  _ the wrong dimension entirely. _

With a void of red fog above, the endless lava ocean below, and the land of the Nether itself ending long before and creating an unnaturally empty section, it left the perfect amount of room for the moon-like island of the End to float in the very center. With obsidian towers, crystals and all; twisted and gnarled, nightmarish versions of Endermen crawling on its surface like spiders with limbs that were far too long. The ones that crawled too close to the edge didn’t just fall off into the lava below, either, instead clinging to the surface as if gravity didn’t exist and skittering away beneath the island.

That alone would be enough to give Grian nightmares for the rest of his life; but it didn’t end there. The twisted Endermen weren’t the only creatures on the misplaced End island, it seemed, as Grian took in the sight of the mass of black half hidden behind the obsidian pillars. Though he was sure Tango had killed it so long ago, there it was; its front turned away from him, he could still see the black particles rising from its very scales, thick as smog. Corrupted sludge was also pouring across the island and into the lava below, coming from the dragon as if its body was melting.

And then it turned.

All at once, everything went silent. The voice, the cries of the corrupted Nether, everything seemed to disappear all at once, and the silence was somehow even more jarring than the horrendous noise Grian had been hearing since he woke up. He barely noticed, though; the piercing purple gaze pinned him in place, feeling as if it could see into his very soul and cut it to pieces if it wanted. In fact, he was sure it already had, the voice coming back so much louder than before and screeching from within himself like it was part of him.

_ This _ was what he had seen.

He couldn’t move, couldn’t close his eyes or look away. Frozen in place, a victim of its stronger will, unable to stop it as it dug its claws ever deeper into his already corrupted mind. Dead, purple eyes staring into him, burned into his sight and impossible to escape from. It was the end of everything and the start of nothing, the source of it all; it was the voice in his head, it was the infection spreading across his world and inside his own body, it was the one in control.

It was the one that wanted his friends. It wanted him, wanted him to bring them to it. It wanted everything to see what it could, what Grian could. The hot ground against his hands was a distant memory, all of his awareness caught on the visions of everything that was, everything that had been, everything that could be and everything that ever would be. He could bring them to it; they’d already lost one of their friends to some pointless attempt at escape, why were they running? If they accepted it, together, they could all stay with each other. He didn’t have to lose his friends. They could all join him. They could see too. They didn’t have to be afraid.

Xisuma could rest. Mumbo could come home. The others could be happy again. All they had to do, all he had to do, was just infect them--

With every remaining ounce of self he had, Grian ripped himself away with a scream. His head felt like it was splitting in two, abused from the inside by the presence of that  _ thing _ , and he couldn’t hear his own thoughts over its relentless chanting. It wouldn’t stop, its voice so loud and piercing and coercive, but looking away from it broke the stream of images and that was enough. He was moving, his wings unfurling and taking him away on nothing more than instinct and muscle memory, an innate feeling of survival leading him away. All he knew was  _ it _ , what it wanted, its voice drowning out everything else, leaving him barely able to be aware of anything else at all. The passing landscape was a blur, nothing registering as he escaped and drew further and further away, though it did nothing to make the voice any quieter.

He had no way of knowing what he was doing or where he was going, and in hindsight, he’d never know how he did it. But somehow, after an amount of time that could have been hours or could have been mere seconds, bouncing back and forth around the Nether and barely noticing as he collided with wall after wall along the way, Grian found his way to something. Something familiar, something that vaguely nudged a thought through the enraged screaming of the dragon; it was something built, quartz stairs and the shining black of obsidian frames, and he collapsed into the nearest portal. The smooth surface was almost cool, the swirling purple all too familiar and nearly scaring him right back away from it, but not soon enough for him to not fall through onto blackened grass and cool night air.

The voice became slightly quieter, muffled by the distance between dimensions, leaving Grian with thoughts that were too loud and too quiet all at once, already unfamiliar compared to the shrieking he’d already come to know as everything in his existence. But it wasn’t quite gone, it was still screaming, it was still crying out in hopeless agony--

Hands placed on his shoulders, the familiar grip of another person, and it all disappeared at once. Startled, voice hoarse and throat raw, Grian felt his mouth snap closed and the screaming finally stopped. He could only tremble, shaking in someone’s soothing grip, as it finally sank in that it was  _ quiet _ and he wasn’t with that thing anymore. He was out. He’d escaped it again. 

But it was still in there.

The owner of the hands on his shoulders was talking, but he couldn’t hear them. He met their worried gaze without an ounce of familiarity as to who they were, his mouth falling open and spilling words that he couldn’t be sure were even the right language.

“It-- it has to die. It has to die.  _ It has to die.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does anybody else remember that time the nether broke and merged with the end and grian flew into it and crashed his game? yeah i was inspired


End file.
